The Cornish Affair
by WriterlyWitching
Summary: A muggleborn girl from Cornwall has gone missing. Auror Weasley is on the case. While juggling fatherhood, a failing marriage and the pressures of his job, Ron must try to solve the mystery and save the girl, but might end up revealing much more than he anticipated as his loyalties are tested far from home and old enemies emerge from the shadows. Rated T for Lang and Adult Themes.
1. Chapter 1: A New Case

The Cornish Affair

Chapter 1: A New Case.

* * *

"Weasley!" barked a loud voice, jolting the red-haired man using his paperwork as a pillow into an upright position.

Trying very hard to look as though he had not just been asleep at his desk, Ron gabbed a quill and pulled his tie straight. He noticed the report he should have been filling in was upside down, and righted it just as his temporary head of department rounded the corner into his office cubicle.

"New case for you," he threw a file on top of the still unwritten disturbance documentation, "your pencil pushing can wait."

The man withdrew his wand and conjured himself a chair. And then sat heavily on it back-to-front. Ron barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes: Alex Stroud was always trying to play 'bad cop' even when there was no one to be interrogated, the moron. Hating Harry for deciding to take a holiday, Ron flicked open the file and started skimming the case information.

"A young witch from Cornwall, Phoebe Briggs, has gone missing, just finished Hogwarts, problem is she lives in a muggle town, and most of the department isn't exactly accustomed to muggle culture, are they?" Stroud continued in a long-suffering sort of way.

Ron looked up in surprise at Stroud, who did roll his eyes before explaining, "Do you walk around with your eyes shut, Weasley? Potter's on leave, and I can't be out of the department for long with him gone, Creevey's still on desk duty after that attack in Fife, and Firth-Macdonald hasn't passed her field assessment yet. That makes you the only available auror with a driving licence let alone any experience with muggles."

"You think I'm a good choice for a muggle case? Merlin, you must be desperate, don't you remember how many Obliviators we had to get out for that case over in Hammersmith?" said Ron, incredulously.

"Yeah, well, that was, what, 7 years ago now? Believe me, if there was anyone else… I'm kind of hoping you've learnt your lesson since then though, eh? Grown up a bit. Besides, aren't your in-laws muggles?"

Ron bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself retorting to this comment. Why Stroud thought being deputy head made it acceptable for him to talk to every other auror bar Harry like they were junior interns was absolutely beyond him. To distract himself from the temptation to tell Stroud what a prick he was, he returned to the case file and began to read. She'd gone missing sometime between getting off of the Hogwarts express and finding her way home. He had seen his own kids off for the new term 2 weeks ago. It was half way through September.

"Stroud! This girl has been missing for 2 months! Why the hell are we only starting on this now?" He jumped to his feet, looking furiously at his colleague.

"Sit down, Weasley. Her parents phoned the muggle police, I don't think they realised wizards have a separate law-enforcement system, she's muggleborn. Of course the police have been completely clueless, I mean, the Briggs' couldn't even tell them the train she was on, or the school she went to, probably thought they were making it up and the daughter had run away." Ron sank slowly back into his chair. 2 months missing. That girl could be anywhere, and as for evidence! He'd be lucky to find so much as a quill that wasn't contaminated. "They sent a message to Hogwarts as a last resort when it became clear that the muggle police could do literally nothing to help them, and McGonagall forwarded it to us."

"Anyway, you'll be going to meet them tomorrow, the Briggs', and start some preliminary questioning in the area, so you need to read through that file ASAP. You'll be posing as a muggle, a Private Investigator, to any neighbours you have to question. Normal rules apply, don't use magic to question anyone unless you've got proof they know something: the Obliviators are starting to get shirty again. I can't wait until Potter's back and he can deal with their crap."

Stroud rose, vanished his chair, and turned to leave. "Oh, almost forgot." He pulled what Ron recognised as a muggle mobile phone out of the pocket of his robes. He chucked it at Ron, who caught it in fumbling fingers. "You'll be needing that. Any muggle witnesses will need a contact number. And you'll need to find yourself somewhere to stay there, keep up appearances, you know. Cheerio."

Ron stared down at the little black device in his hands, and deciding that he was going to drop in on Harry before he went home to a) find out how to use the blasted thing, and b) tell him that his deputy head Auror was a shit bag, he pulled the case file towards him and started to read.

* * *

Not sure how often I'm going to be able to update this just yet, but I wanted to write something Ron-Centric because it's something I don't see a lot of (but then perhaps I'm just not looking hard enough)

I'm not used to creative/fiction writing and I'm rather nervous, so any encouragement or (helpful) criticism would be very much appreciated!

If you've read, please review!


	2. Chapter 2: A House is not a Home

The Cornish Affair

Chapter 2: A House is not a Home

* * *

Ron arrived on the front step of Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a crack, and rung the bell sharply. Tapping his foot in mild impatience while he waited, he considered the house.

It was very different from the mausoleum of his very first visit.

As soon as he could after the war had finished, Harry had completely stripped the whole house, from top to bottom, with the help of Ginny, Hermione and Ron. He had seemed to take a furious, bittersweet sort of delight in tearing out every trace of Sirius' first and last prison, reclaiming it for him, wiping it clean and opening it up, filling it with the light that his Godfather's life had so lacked. Ron remembered how hopeful it had felt, erasing that darkness, as though they were really leaving it all behind, starting fresh.

Ron was pulled from these thoughts by Ginny opening the front door. Ushering Ron in with an amused "would you look what the cat dragged in" to Harry, who was emerging from the kitchen steps at the end of the hall, she took in her brother's somewhat rumpled attire, dark eyes and unshaven face. "You look awful," she said cheerfully to Ron, already headed up the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Cheers Gin, you always know just what to say." He replied, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

Shaking his head at the yelled "You're welcome!" from the floor above, Harry gestured Ron to follow, and led the way into the kitchen.

"Tea?" he asked casually over his shoulder, pointing his wand at the kettle when Ron accepted and opening the fridge. He had to raise his voice over the sound of the now whistling kettle to say, "There's some of your mum's crumble left from Sunday dinner, you want some?"

Ron grabbed a tea towel to take the kettle off of the stove, and started making the tea as he replied, "Go on then." He set two mugs on the table as Harry plonked down a bowl each of soggy third day crumble. "New case today, Stroud's such a prick you know, missing persons, recons I'm going to have to do a residential job of it." He took a couple of spoons from the cutlery draw, chucking one to Harry and sitting down with a sigh. Prodding the stewed fruit in his bowl morosely, he began to tell Harry about the case.

"Er, that's possibly my fault actually" Harry said, a little apologetically, "It being given to you I mean, sorry about that. McGonagall didn't actually forward it to the ministry, she owled it to me personally. Gin wouldn't hear of me cutting my holiday time short to deal with it, and you're the only person I really trust to get to grips with this." He paused before continuing a little resignedly "It's going to be tough one, no matter what, I mean 2 months missing? I'm afraid any leads you find are going to be mostly cold already, I've just got a really bad feeling about it."

They sat in silence for a moment, neither voicing their trepidation. There had been three other muggleborns go missing over this summer, none nearly as young as Phoebe Briggs, and none of them had yet been found. If they were connected, and more than three was almost certainly a pattern, they might be dealing with one of the pockets of pure-blood extremism which had become fewer and fewer in the time since Lord Voldemort's defeat. It had now been two years since the auror department had apprehended a single suspect on suspicion of a blood hate crime, this would prove a serious reversal of that progress, and if they didn't solve the case and apprehend someone, it could open the floodgates of that vitriol all over again.

Holding his spoon rather tensely, Ron swallowed his last mouthful of crumble. "It might not even be connected, Ron," Harry started, "but we need to know, yeah?"

"Yeah, well, I set off tomorrow, starting with the Briggs', can I have that letter by any chance?" Harry pulled the folded paper from his jeans pocket and slid it across the table to Ron, who tucked it into the file he had brought with him before continuing, "Won't know what to make of anything till I get there, d'you want me to keep you filled in as well as Stroud?" Harry nodded briefly. "Ginny'll be furious with me," Ron sighed, staring into his tea.

Harry chuckled, "She knows it's either this or I go back into work, I'm sure she'll cope. Besides, she's not going to jeopardise the first time off without the kids around for anything, she's been looking forward to it for so long."

Ron pulled a rather pained face, "I know I should have got used to it by now, you've had three kids for Merlin's sake, but please, Harry, she is still my sister, I don't need to know whatever it is you've been looking forward to." Harry held out his hands in apology before collecting their dirty crockery and placing them in the sink, where the dish cloth began washing them quite autonomously.

Ron lent back from the table, still cradling his tea, and felt the weight of the mobile in his robe pocket as he shifted. "Oh, one more thing, if you don't mind mate," he held up the phone to show Harry, "how the hell does this work?"

Harry picked up a tea towel and began drying the magically cleaned pots manually, turning away from Ron and placing them in the cupboard with what seemed to Ron unnecessary slowness. Knowing full well that Harry's sudden deafness could not be genuine, and with a shrewd idea of the reason for this rather feeble feigning, Ron began again, with a slight undertone of hostility, "Harry, how - "

"Why not just ask Hermione, Ron?" Harry sighed, interrupting him before he could finish, "You know, your wife?" he finished rather sternly, looking over the rim of his glasses at Ron, "She would know better than me anyway, it's been years since I've really been a part of the muggle world, and besides, do you think the Dursleys would ever have bought me one? "

"She already thinks she's married a moron and a layabout, there's no need for me to give her anymore evidence that she's right, is there?" Ron replied shortly, with half a mind of just leaving, maybe his dad would know how to work it, and wouldn't insinuate that it was his fault that his marriage was falling apart around his ears while showing him how. It was all very well for Harry to sit there on his high horse, Ron thought as he clenched his fist around the handle of his mug and took a terse sip of tea to avoid Harry's eyes. He and Ginny had never had any really serious problems with their relationship, not since their brief separation before the Horcrux hunt, Harry had no idea what this was like.

Ron pushed back his chair abruptly, he needed to leave before did something stupid. Like tell Harry that he hadn't slept next to, kissed, or even held his wife for almost two months. Even then, it had only been because his mum had been looking at them with a sadness in her eyes he couldn't bear to have caused. He exited the kitchen, climbed one flight of stairs, and took refuge in the lounge that had once been the drawing room.

He remembered rowing with Hermione about using magic to painting these walls, he'd wanted to get it done quickly, but she wanted to do it the muggle way so that they could 'all really be proud of what they'd achieved'. He'd conceded, it was usually easier. When they'd finished the room, she had pressed him back into the still wet white, trying to climb inside of his skin. He'd had to correct the damaged paint with magic anyway, in the end. Ron snorted mirthlessly into his mug as he remembered how later, when Hermione was picking the white flakes out of his hair, he had said to her that if they were going to make up like that afterwards, they'd have to argue much more often. He supposed he ought to have been more careful about wishes like that.

He heard the stairs creak with the weight of someone ascending, but did not look around.

"Really that bad, huh?" Harry asked appraisingly from the doorway. Ron said nothing, and Harry, correctly interpreting his silence as confirmation, continued "I won't be taking sides in this Ron, but if either of you need us, just shout, yeah?" He stood and turned to return to the kitchen calling, "more tea?" To cover the awkwardness of the moment.

"Best not, I ought to be getting home if you can't help me with this, I'll need quite a while to try and work this out."

Harry rolled his eyes at him, and held out a hand, "Stop whining, give it here."

* * *

Ron arrived at his own house over an hour later, and crept as quietly as he could down the darkening hall. He could see a chink of light hitting the wall of the landing above, which told him that Hermione was in her study. He wouldn't have to face her yet. He continued down the hall into the kitchen, and set about finding something to eat, trying very hard not to make enough noise to draw Hermione's attention sufficiently that she'd come downstairs.

A short while later he was sat at the kitchen table with a small pile of cheese on toast. The cheese and the bread had both been stale, it was Ron's turn to do the shopping, no doubt she was furious with him. He ate far more slowly than was customary for him, delaying the inevitable conversation as long as possible, watching the shadows across the counters lengthening and shifting, until he sat in the semi-dark, of night in the city. Ron's reflection in the window opposite stared back at him, washed-out and stained by the harsh orange of the street lamps.

He dragged his feet as he stood and made his way unwillingly up the stair case towards his wife's home study. He did not know whether he would rather she shouted or, as was increasingly the case, spoke shortly without looking at him at all. Those were the only two types of conversation they had nowadays, and he could not decide which was more painful. He did not have the energy for a blow up row tonight, but Hermione's distant, unfeeling coldness was just as draining to him. He let out a breath, hissing it between his teeth, raised a fist, and knocked.

* * *

A/N: This is perhaps an odd cut off point, but I felt guilty about leaving this story when I really want to stick with it! A bit domestic (and next chapter probably will be as well) but important none the less (I think).

Please let me know your thoughts!

If you've read, please review!


	3. Chapter 3: Darkness and Divorce

The Cornish Affair

Chapter 3: Darkness and Divorce

* * *

Even the way he knocked sounded halfhearted, a tentative, stuttering tap-tap-tapping replacing his customary impatient rapping of knuckles. His hands both braced against the door as he waited for his wife's response, Ron's shoulders slumped when he heard Hermione's voice slice through the dusty silence of their home.

"Come in." reverberated through the wood of the door and through his palms pressed against it, she sounded cold, forlorn. The door clicked and swung open. The scattered lamps filled the room with criss-crossing half shadows, so that Ron's tall silhouette was cast all around the room, like a strange, dark flower blooming from his scuffed loafers as he entered. She looked up at him over the top of her reading glasses, a manuscript spread over the desk in front of her and a smudge of red ink on her face from her editing quill.

"Yes?" eyebrow quirked, sharp tongued, impatient. Ron could see 'I don't have time for this' etched into every tense line of her face, written in every twitching, clenching movement of her fingers.

He swallowed. It was going to be curt and to the point then. He supposed that was better than a shouting match, he wasn't sure he had the energy tonight. He moistened his bottom lip with his tongue, steeling himself for speech. The silence stretched, inch by inch. A drop of ink fell from Hermione's stationary quill, she sighed, and laid down. The sigh, small, resigned 'just spit it out already' propelled Ron into speech.

"I'm going to be away for a bit on a case." Silence. One, two, three…he counted the seconds, barely breathing. At fifteen he cleared his throat and continued, hoarsely, "I don't know how long for, missing persons you know, could take a while." More silence, he only reached ten seconds this time, tripping over his tongue to break it again, "I- I just thought you ought to know, sorry for… "he trailed off. What was he sorry for again? Forgetting to pick up the shopping? For interrupting? For thinking she'd care if he was there or not? For how their life had turned out?

He turned to leave. His hand was on the doorknob before she spoke. "I think," she faltered, he turned to look at her, she was stood at the end of her desk, hand raised as though to stop him leaving. He hadn't heard her move. "I… I'm tired Ron, and I'm sorry too." She would not look him in the eye, she was looking down picking at her fingernails. Anxiety. "I don't want this anymore." She took a very deep breath, as though inhaling courage from the surrounding air, her domain, and looked at him, straight in the eye for the first time in weeks, "I want to look into getting a divorce." Ron said nothing. "This isn't going to get better, everyone knows we're unhappy, and we're making Rose and Hugo unhappy too, I…" She gave a mirthless sort of chuckle "I just thought you ought to know… and I'm sorry too." Her voice hitched slightly at the end, and she turned her back on him, shoulders tight, ridged.

Honesty at last, Ron thought, as he moved out into the cold hallway. He glanced at their bedroom door as he passed it, moving onto their son's room. The golden letters on the door shimmered slightly as he pushed it open revealing a small camp bed, incongruous in the palpably teenaged room, pushed up against the foot of Hugo's bed. He changed quickly, without turning on the lights, and laid down. The word 'Divorce' seemed to swim strangely in front of his eyes. He wasn't surprised exactly, they had both known this was inevitable, but the coldness that spread into his chest, his lungs his heart, spoke of fear, of change, of loss. As he drifted into the dark of sleep however, his thoughts were not of memories of the relationship they had had, bitter or sweet, nor of their children, miles away at school and how they would react, but of how an eighteen year old girl could go missing, and no one except her parents notice she was gone.

* * *

A/N: This one is very short, just trying to get back into the swing of writing

If you've read, please review!


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